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SILVER LINING 

THE EXPERIENCES 
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SILVER LINING 



SILVER LINING 

THE EXPERIENCES OF A WAR BRIDE 

By 
R. W. F. 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
1918 



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COPYRIGHT, I918, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Published November iqjS 



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TO MY SERGEANT 

' Praying the dear God to keep you, 
My Soldier — wherever you are,* 



Preface 

This little book is dedicated to my husband, who 
has far surpassed the most extravagant of my 
^'teen age^^ dreams of a possible Prince Charming. 

And yet, an underlying dedication I feel is also 
due to the dear mother and father in whose early 
influence the spirit of the following pages was un- 
doubtedly rooted. 

The author makes no claim to the subtleties of 
literary distinction, this being the narrative, simple 
and unadorned, of what one w.oman has learned 
from war. And if, by virtue only of priority in 
experience, it affords the merest scrap of comfort 
and optimism to those who are at the portals of a 
similar experience^ its existence will have been 
justified. 

R. W. F. 



SILVER LINING 



In Appreciation 

Over my heart I wear it, 

My brave little Service Star! 
Praying the dear God to keep you, 

My Soldier — wherever you are. 

Under the emblem your image 
Is written in heart-beats of mine; 

It mirrors the every-day level 
Of living, as wholly Divine. 

As Launcelot's Shield was embroidered^ 
A fabric for my Knight I weave. 

My soul is inlaid through the pattern, 
And all that I am — and believe! 

Its colors are painted in yearning. 
And threads that are spun one by one 

Form substance of Hope and Assurance 
Through Faith — of the Future to come! 



Over my heart I wear it, 

My brave little Service Star! 
Praying the dear God to keep you. 

My Soldier — wherever you are. 

R. W. 

(Published in American Khakiland) 



Silver Lining 

CHAPTER I 
It is June! 

June of silvery green leaves joyously 
aquiver in the warm gold of summer new- 
born. June of the blushing, breathless dusk 
that so gradually blurs into starry evening. 
June of roses! — June of brides! — 

A year ago it was my June, and to-day is 
the anniversary — the first anniversary of 
my wedding. Four weeks ago, one morn- 
ing, just as the dawn broke through the 
gentle mist of budding spring, my husband 
sailed for France. A year ago it was my 
June, when all the world and the reason for 
it was suddenly revealed to me. It was 
Arcady! 

And yet, to-day, June is mine too — in 
spite of all the past year's loneliness, the 
ache of separation, the suspending (for the 

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time being) of all that makes life livable — 
yes, because of it, this June is more truly 
mine, for it has taught me that after all it is 
not we who live in Arcady, but Arcady that 
lives in us! For joy and love are not les- 
sened by suffering; rather are they deep- 
ened and glorified with an intensity of ten- 
derness which ''passeth understanding." 

We had two months together, two months 
of such utter content and happiness that 
life seemed almost too good to be true. 

Then one day, in August, it was an- 
nounced that married men were also to be 
called. I can remember the feeling of help- 
lessness as the morning headlines stared up 
at me. 

Some days later, the Boy having passed 
his physical examination (though but re- 
cently recovered from appendicitis), the 
question of exemption was suddenly put to 
me. I had only a few moments to consider 
it. We had every right to the claim — ex- 
cept the moral right ! — and I faced the 

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hardest decision of my life. It would n*t 
be honest to say that my answer was in- 
stantaneous (heroics struggle — they do 
not leap!) but even through the mass of 
conflicting emotions I knew what I should 
say. All my life I have prayed to be equal 
to anything Fate might demand — and so, 
presently (the Boy was watching me, white, 
eager), I said quietly, ** Certainly you shan't 
claim exemption. There must be no com- 
promise with Honor." For a moment the 
Boy did n't speak. Then he straightened 
up, drew a sigh of relief, smiled, and ex- 
claimed, "I knew you would say that.'* 
And his smile was reward enough ! 

So together we left the oflice of the local 
board, our souls serene — and our hearts 
leaden. 

Then, when after leaving him at his 
office I turned my own steps homeward, 
there came to my mind the realization, and 
determination, that henceforth I was to be 
a soldier's wife, not a citizen's ! (And there 

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is a vast difference between them, for the 
former involves a sacrifice of practically all 
that the latter means!) And so I began to 
plan an unusually festive dinner for that 
evening {entre nous) to celebrate my d6but 
in the new role ! 

Donning the gown my husband particu- 
larly liked, after everything was ready I 
ran down the street to meet his train. 
Walking back, arm in arm, I informed him 
gayly, **We're entertaining a soldier for 
dinner this evening!" He looked curious, 
and, explaining, I added confidentially, 
"But, of course, there will be nobody there 
except you and me!" Then I dashed up 
the steps ahead of him, for I did n't want 
to be kissed in full view of the neighbor- 
hood! 

Well, it was a wonderful occasion, 
that little dinner — and while each of us 
crammed down the lump in our throats, 
and vied with each other in gay repartee, 
underneath was the solemn consciousness 
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Silver Lining 

of having entered into a covenant fully as 
significant as our marriage promises. 

Later in the evening, the tension snapped, 
and we clung together with the realization 
of what we were facing. 



CHAPTER II 
And so the die was cast. 

It was hard at first to maintain that spon- 
taneous resolve, and to keep the flame burn- 
ing steadily day by day. We enter life much 
as we do a church or lecture hall, with our 
own preconceived ideas about where we 
shall sit. We look over the space with ap- 
praising eye; we say, "Ah! there's a good 
seat down front, in full view of the speaker 
and the music — I'll sit there." And the 
aisle stretching out apparently straight be- 
fore us, we stride along confidently. But 
only for a few steps. An usher overtakes us, 
politely but firmly, and before we know it 
we are seated halfway down — on the side 
— behind a post ! 

Of course we may leave the building, 

since we are thwarted in our destination, 

but, curiously, most of us prefer to remain 

and face the music! At first we squirm — 

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Silver Lining 

we cannot see the speaker's face, nor watch 
the organist's hands (all on account of the 
post), but gradually we discover that it is 
what the speaker says that matters, and 
what the organist plays that touches us, till 
finally, the post is impotent. 

So, in September, when the first quota 
was called, came my first real "post," as a 
soldier's wife, to eliminate ; and that was to 
"send him away with a smile." (Only those 
who have accomplished that smile know its 
cost !) 

Looking back, I sometimes think that 
first parting was the hardest fight of the 
subsequent year of fights. 

It was all so new. To my now somewhat 
maturer conception of renunciation, I was 
psychologically young and unprepared. Un- 
til my marriage I had never been away 
from my family more than a month at a 
time, and suddenly, after only two short 
months of my new life, three hundred miles 
from my own home, came the "acid test" 

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— the gauntlet that fell before thousands of 
other brides, as well as before me. (But, 
oh! you thousands of others, aren't you 
glad that you bent and picked it up? I am !) 
I shall never forget the poignancy of that 
first evening after our parting. I was spend- 
ing the night with my husband's mother, 
and when the waning twilight and deepen- 
ing darkness overwhelmed me with almost 
terrifying loneliness, I rushed to the bath- 
room, turned on all the faucets (so no one 
could hear me), and sobbed from my very 
toes ! I include that confession to show that 
the strength and courage which afterward 
came to me were by no means at my com- 
plete and immediate disposal. 

That was Wednesday. 

After centuries had passed, Sunday came, 
and motoring out to camp I saw the Boy in 
uniform for the first time. And from that 
moment our separation began to take on 
glimmerings of glory along with its pain ! I 
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Silver Lining 

was so proud of him ! Besides, it was splen- 
did to feel that in the country's champion- 
ing of the Great Cause we, too, belonged. 

In about three weeks my Soldier was 
given his first twenty-four-hour pass, and 
mere words fail to express the ecstasy of 
that reunion — nor the swiftness of its 
passing. 

Soon after this I was offered a church 
position in the suburb where we had spent 
our first wonderful summer together, which 
I gladly accepted; for it was as near my 
husband's camp as I could hope to be; it 
would keep me occupied as well as provide 
an opportunity to continue work in my 
beloved music — and it meant, in a way, a 
home-going. 

It was middle October, in the dusk of a 
late fall afternoon, that I descended, alone, 
from the train to the platform of the pretty 
little station we had left together a few 
weeks — was it only weeks? — before. The 
train happened to be the 5.18 express from 

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Boston, the one the Boy had always come 
home on. I recognized many familiar 
** commuters" as they sprang from the 
steps, rattling evening papers in that 
strange, indefinable, "Well, it 's-good-to-be- 
home-again'* way — and it was with a 
great sense of aloneness that I turned from 
my accustomed route, and in a different 
direction to my new abode. 

* That evening (my first experience of liv- 
ing in one room here, getting meals around 
the corner there), the doorbell rang, and 
there stood my Soldier ! — borne thither by 
a rickety little old Ford, which chugged 
complacently at the curb as if aware of the 
precious surprise it had brought me. It 
might have been a gold chariot, so hun- 
grily overjoyed was I to see the Boy! 

It seemed that an ofiicer, hard up for 

cash, had offered the car (!) for $115 — and 

after the usual bickering took a check for 

$112.50 — and the time being just after 

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Retreat the Boy jumped in and drove 
straight to me — that is, as straight as 
rough roads, in a Ford, and two hours, can 
be! 

''Was I foolish to get it?" he asked. 

"I should say not!" I caroled joyously. 
"We can't buy any furniture till this old 
war is over, and we can have some jolly 
good times in this funny thing on wheels!" 

Thereupon it was christened the "Jolly 
Rattler," and hopping in we rode around 
the village till it was time for the Boy to go 
back to camp for "Taps." 

(P.S. We had many a ride in the "Jolly 
Rattler" before cold weather made us sell 
it; and never a Pierce- Arrow that swept us 
by in high disdain carried one half the ton- 
nage of pure joy that humble "Henry" 
boasted !) 



CHAPTER III 
Thus autumn passed. 

And, little by little, I began to adjust 
myself to the new circumstances; trying 
(not always succeeding brilliantly) to make 
each day a stronger demonstration of my 
fervent creed; to love, work, and hope, as 
never before! And the more I honestly 
tried to find light where shadows appeared 
to be, the more I found to be grateful for — 
the gladder I was to claim a tiny share in 
the Battle for Principle. 

Feeling this, and having come in contact 
with a few wives (happily in the minority), 
who, situated as I was, proceeded to make 
themselves, and incidentally their soldier 
husbands, miserable, through their inability 
to see any justice in the appropriation of 
their men by the Government — it seemed 
to me that the women of the Country had 
a very definite and necessary part to play; 

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Silver Lining 

they to maintain optimism and courage, 
keeping the Lamp of Inspiration trimmed, so 
to speak, while the men learned how to fight. 
And I wanted to shout for cooperation, for 
concerted effort toward that endeavor. 

Well, the only way for a conventional 
person to ** shout," and ''according to 
Hoyle," is via the press ; so therewith poured 
I my earnest convictions into an article 
which, after laborious and anxious conclu- 
sion, was duly bundled off to meet the pos- 
sible acceptance or rejection of an editor. 

In the meantime, the Boy was made 
First Sergeant of his battery, and I was as 
thrilled as if it had been a generalship ! In- 
deed, as my glance rests on the little chevron, 
framed and standing on my dressing-table, 
which, with the inscription, ** October 23, 
1917 — 301 F.A., Battery F," denoted the 
proud achievement — it seems to me that 
no generalship could ever bring quite the 
quiver of pride which flamed for my 
Sergeant ! 

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Silver Lining 

Compensation for our sacrifice mani- 
fested itself in numberless ways. One in- 
stance of this occurred during the time of 
the Y.M.C.A. campaign when my husband 
was asked to speak at a big rally in the Ar- 
mory of his home town. Standing well back 
in the flag-waving crowd, it was quite all I 
could manage to keep my heart in its proper 
place, when my khaki-clad Soldier, stand- 
ing straight and eloquent and convincing, 
finished his speech amid wild cheers of ap- 
proval! — Oh, yes! it was all worth while. 

At Thanksgiving the Boy obtained four 
days* leave, and we went home to my peo- 
ple. Needless to relate, there ensued much 
proud exhibiting, on my part, of my uni- 
formed husband. Another compensation, 
you see. 

Soon after our return, one Sunday, the 
Boy excitedly brought me the paper, maga- 
zine section open, with the words, ''Have 
you written anything lately?" I grabbed 
the sheet from his hands, and, sure enough, 
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Silver Lining 

there was my article, in grown-up head- 
lines, with a nice little editorial comment 
attached ! It really was mine, but no signa- 
ture being given, I asked the Boy curiously, 
"What makes you think I wrote it?" 
He laughed. "Anybody who knows you 
could n't fail to recognize the exclamation 
marks and parentheses." So I owned up, 
and what the Boy said about it made me 
happier than the subsequent check that 
followed in the course of a few days. 

Ah ! you successful authors, to whose ma- 
ture experience editorial comments and 
checks are matter-of-fact and logical — 
you may smile tolerantly at my exuberance 
over that modest acceptance; but to me, it 
meant a step farther — a goal nearer — I 
had earned the Boy's applause ; and best of 
all, the conviction in which I so sincerely 
desired supporters was being circulated — 
and, perhaps, in an infinitesimal degree, I 
was beginning to do my "bit." 



CHAPTER IV 
Soon after this the opportunity was offered 
me to spend a month at Camp Devens, in 
the capacity of Volunteer Hostess, at the 
Y.W.C.A. Hostess House. Naturally the 
appeal of being so near my husband was in 
itself sufficient inducement, aside from the 
splendid chance to make myself useful, so 
without further ado I found myself in- 
stalled in the Land of Khaki. 

My subsequent experience there (de- 
tailed impressions of which have since been 
published under the title "Being Hostess 
in a Military Camp") convinced me more 
than ever of the great need for cheery cour- 
age and patriotic loyalty among the women 
upon whom their embryonic soldiers so 
obviously depend. Compare the attitude 
of one soldier who declared proudly to me, 
'*I never could have enlisted if mother 
had n't been such a thorough good sport 1 

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I felt she needed me at home and it would 
be selfish to go, but no — she said, with her 
hands on my shoulder — ' Son, you go I and 
your mother stands back of you ! ' Gee ! I 
could have licked the whole German army 
after that." Compare that case, I say, with 
another soldier whose wife always departed 
in tears whenever she came to visit him 
at camp, and then tell me which soldier 
marched with a song in his heart? 

I met many mothers and wives, from all 
over the land, during my work there, and 
was repeatedly thrilled and uplifted by 
countless evidences of bravery and ideal- 
ism. And it inspired me with fresh deter- 
mination to keep pace, to the limit of en- 
deavor, with the Soldier whose name I bore 
— to "carry on" with a vision — and a 
smile! 

Quite aside from the psychological effect 
of surroundings military and, consequently 
disciplining (such as having to bid one's 
husband "Good-night" at five minutes of 

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Silver Lining 

ten, his having been there only five min- 
utes, to the contrary notwithstanding), 
there remained the very interesting adven- 
ture of just Hving in a mihtary camp. It 
was, obviously, a privilege very few women 
have been permitted to enjoy in this war. 

It was exhilarating to tramp off, of an 
afternoon, up the snow-packed road that 
crunched beneath the measured tread of 
hiking squads, to the Camp Post-Office; 
there to replenish the Hostess House stamp- 
box. 

It was novel to wake to the sound of the 
Reveille call, the buglers echoing one an- 
other in the distance, in the stillness of 
early morning. 

It was thrilling, at dusk, to watch rigid 
figures silhouetted against pale sunset, 
standing motionless, at Retreat, while the 
Nation's Flag was lowered. 

Then, at the end of evening, strangely 
like a benediction, floated the music of that 
most beautiful of bugle calls — "Taps"! 
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Silver Lining 

when as the notes died away, out across the 
barracks-dotted snow, thousands of little 
twinkling lights were blotted, one by one, 
into the darkness. . . . 

On Christmas Night, standing by my 
open window, the sweet, familiar strains 
came to me with deeper significance; for it 
was as if these Trumpeters of the Great 
Crusade were bringing, as the angels brought 
long ago, that night of the Christ-Child's 
birth, the self-same message: "Great tid- 
ings of joy — on earth, Peace! — good will 
— toward men!" 



CHAPTER V 
In January the Boy won an appointment 
to the Officers' Training Camp, and my 
pride again scaled the heights. Nothing 
seemed too hard for his accomplishment, 
and I began, womanlike, to picture him in 
spurs and a "Sam Browne" belt. And, by 
the way, if any one had asked, about this 
time, whether I wished we had claimed ex- 
emption, I should have flamed with right- 
eous indignation. Curiously enough, the 
months had brought not only adjustment, 
but an honest and wholly sincere zest in the 
Game! As the ''boys'* would remark, in 
popular camp argot, I was "in the Army 
now!" And I had discovered that disci- 
pline is truly soul-stimulating when the 
cause for which we are disciplined is hu- 
manitarian. 

Shortly after the O.T.C. commenced its 
training, my husband's battery was quar- 

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Silver Lining 

antined for measles, and for over a month 
the Boy was unable to leave camp, during 
which time we were obliged to console our- 
selves with letters, and my weekly visit to 
camp. There I was permitted to see him 
only outside the barracks, where the rules 
of quarantine allowed us to walk one hun- 
dred yards in each direction. As it was zero 
weather then, walking — within a restricted 
area — was not the most unalloyed joy. 
However, we always had the consoling fact 
that at least, so far, the Boy was still on 
this side of the "Pond." 

This was our one cheering thought, 
when, the afternoon over, I would start 
wistfully off down the road, in the wake of 
a winter sunset — the Boy standing, watch- 
ing me to the curve where the road dips out 
of sight, and where I always turned to wave 
gayly to him. It was hard to leave, yet, 
when I think of the greater demand on 
courage that was to follow a few months 
later, I wonder how the former could have 

[23] 



Silver Lining 

gripped me so. I suppose we are never 
given strength in advance of our need, as 
we plod up our Hills of Difficulty; and so 
each elevation appears as a mountain until 
we stand on its peak. 

My biggest "mountain" came suddenly. 

One Saturday, early in April, in the first 
hints of spring, came the overseas call ! 

The telephone rang. Over the wire the 
Boy's voice came in queer, jerky sentences: 
** Thirty-six hours' leave — can't tell you 
anything more — wild rumors afloat — get 
some one to sing in your place to-morrow — 
telephone the Plaza — meet you there this 
afternoon — " Surprised at my own calm- 
ness, I listened to his instructions, then 
hung up the receiver in a dazed fashion. He 
had n't mentioned France, but my beating 
heart spelled the truth. 

I only cried for a moment or so — there 

was so much to be done ; and it was a poor 

time for a soldier's wife to indulge in tears. 

Above all, there was the ever-persistent 

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Silver Lining 

challenge to patriotism, and I must n*t be 
found wanting. In other words, rehearsals 
were over — the Play was on ; and I had n't 
been studying the lines all those months, 
just to miss the cue. 

I went to my room and, gathering to- 
gether all the socks and things which the 
Boy had been keeping with me, I packed 
them up, in case his leaving should be pre- 
cipitate. Kneeling on the floor in the midst 
of things, my mind reverted to the day 
after he had gone to camp, when I had 
packed away the "mufti," and I wondered, 
dully, why I had suffered so keenly when 
he was only going to camp. . . . This was 
France ! 

The hours dragged until I saw him and 
learned the little he himself knew. 

That evening we arranged everything 
that was necessary, planning about ad- 
dresses, cablegrams — all the frantic elev- 
enth-hour reminders that are familiar to 
every one who has gone through with it. 

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Silver Lining 

Each kept up for the other, when, sud- 
denly, the Boy glanced anxiously at me. 

"Why don't you just cry it out? You 
must n't swallow the thing any longer — 
the strain shows in your face — ' ' After all, 
we loved each other. Life was a beautiful 
thing to be shared^ not renounced — and 
we had only just begun to discover its 
wonder — 

My heart began to overflow my soul. 

"Please," he urged — and held out his 
arms! 



Bon Voyage 

Mayhap you deem it passing strange 

That I should smile to-day, 
When on the morrow's dawn a transport 

Bears you leagues away — 
But, ah! no blinding tears shall dim my eyes 

Because — you see — 
I'm saving tears to cry for Joy — 

When you come hack to me! 

R. W. F. 
(Published in American Khakiland) 



CHAPTER VI 
The following day was spent in visiting 
friends, the Boy bidding temporary fare- 
wells and receiving warm, cheery "God- 
speeds.'* He was n't supposed to tell people 
where he was going, so he merely intimated 
that he might be seasick shortly. . . . And 
no one demanded any further explanation. 

That evening, just before the Boy re- 
turned to camp (from where he was to leave 
the next morning for the camp of embarka- 
tion), there came a heaven-sent message; 
an invitation from the mother of one of the 
Boy's fellow candidates, who chanced to be 
visiting her son when the sudden order over- 
seas came. Her home was near the embar- 
kation camp to which the men were going, 
and she insisted that when they left, I fol- 
low and come to her for the time they re- 
mained on this side. 

War has proved a sort of common de- 
nominator, to which we who participate are 
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Silver Lining 

brought together in grateful camaraderie; 
and so the understanding which prompted 
her invitation made its glad acceptance 
obvious. And to my husband and me, the 
incident was more than a happenstance; 
— it was just another wonderful assurance 
of ''Green Pastures." 

Almost before I was up the follow- 
ing morning, came word from the Camp 
Y.M.C.A. (according to the Boy's promise) 
that the men had left. 

In another hour I was on my way, also. 

In New York, some hours later — at 
the Grand Central Station, it seemed to 
me that every girl on the train was being 
greeted by a uniform ! While I — I walked 
like Mr. Kipling's cat, *'. . . all by myself; 
and all things were alike to me!" 

The following week, thanks to my new- 
found friend, we motored to camp each day, 
making the most of our time with the Boys. 

Then — one afternoon, they were ordered 

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Silver Lining 

to pack their barracks bags, and we knew 
the time was up. We had been having 
luncheon out on the Hostess House lawn 
(for spring was smiling!) and just before 
Retreat, the Boys said quietly, "You had 
better leave now.'* 

So they sauntered along with us toward 
the waiting motor, laughing and joking 
about a proposed house-party on July 4th, 
for all the world as if they believed it ! — 
Their white faces, however, belied any sense 
of frivolity. But when we reached the car, 
we took leave of them, smiling ... as on 
previous days . . . and that was all. The 
car moved off slowly; and in another mo- 
ment, whirling away, as we turned to wave 
to them they were just little brown specks 
in the road behind us. . . . 

Such is the pretending mask beneath 
which we humans stifle our emotions ; heads 
up — eyes smiling — lips firm, in our fierce 
desire to play the Game! 



CHAPTER Vri 
Next morning I went home to my own 
family for a brief visit. It was a visit, and 
not a permanent home-going for this rea- 
son ; long before the Boy went across, I had 
made up my mind that when he did go I 
would stay on in Boston, retaining my 
church position, and finding some regular 
work in which to do my "bit." 

Just how difficult the carrying out of that 
resolve was, I discovered when I went 
home. After all, it was the natural and easy 
thing to do — to take my place again in the 
family circle which was so dear to me. All 
my friends assumed that I had come back 
for "the duration of the War'*; my family 
wanted me, but they generously, and to my 
everlasting gratitude, understood my deci- 
sion and did not make my holding to it the 
more difficult by urging. It was the situa- 
tion which comes to every one sometime 

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Silver Lining 

— a show-down of the courage of one's 
convictions. 

It would have been so comforting to be 
with my own people in my loneliness — also 
logical. But the Pillar of Fire pointed 
otherwise, to my mind. It was to go back, 
take up life where I had so hurriedly 
dropped it (this time without the week-ends 
with the Boy to anticipate) — and, one 
way or another, make good. 

You see, my husband had gone to France. 
Over there he would encounter experi- 
ences, hardships, dangers, opportunities, 
which of themselves would enlarge his hor- 
izon, mentally as well as geographically 

— experiences that could not help but 
broaden and develop even beyond the de- 
gree of perfection I already believed him 
to occupy. 

Was I to stand still in his absence? 

Just being cheerful and optimistic was n't 

enough. That was not progress — it was 

only the corner-stone. On it must be built 

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Silver Lining 

thoroughly and solidly such efforts and 
ideals as will make for comprehensive com- 
panionship after the War. 

Unable to share in the actual fighting of 
battles and attending experiences thereof, I 
must find some way in just every-day living 
through which to approximate more nearly 
that attitude of mind and soul with which 
our soldiers will return imbued. 

In other words, I must inaugurate and 
graduate in a sort of Training Course for 
After-the-War Wives! 

Perhaps the question arises, as it did with 
my friends, ''Why can't you be busy at 
home? " And the answer was that it would 
be no test of endurance nor courage of ini- 
tiative, to work in an easy atmosphere. My 
husband was coping with new and uncom- 
promising situations — how could I hope 
to echo him ever so faintly if my own activ- 
ities were cushioned? 

That is the responsibility we wives of 
soldiers must face, and face frankly, in this 

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Silver Lining 

period when our men in France are earning 
immortal honor and glory. 

What are we doing to deserve their return 
to us? As surely as dawn follows night, 
there is to be reconstruction in people, as 
well as in affairs, when this War is ended — 
else what has the suffering taught us? 

Surely nothing less than our highest 
endeavors, our broadest sympathies, our 
most loyal love, and our most passionate, 
unswerving faith in the eventual outcome 
of things — can avail in the present neces- 
sity ! 

Meredith has said — and it is strangely 
apt in the crisis of current affairs — 

" Thou that dr earnest an Event 
While Circumstance is hut a waste of sand — 
Arise! take up thy fortunes in thy hand, 
And daily forward pitch thy tenty 



CHAPTER VIII 
So I went back. 

But I left a promise to postpone my 
search for regular day-to-day work until 
the fall, so that my church vacation might 
be spent with my family. 

However, there was plenty to do in the 
meantime, what with the usual War work, 
knitting, etc., and the completion of a 
course in literature which I had started in 
January, as well as one on Americaniza- 
tion. 

It would be neglecting the most impor- 
tant phase of my War experience if I failed 
to chronicle the state of mind to which I 
had gravitated, slowly but surely, since the 
Boy donned khaki. 

The need for optimism and my conscious- 
ness thereof I have already mentioned — 
but not until the Boy had actually sailed, 
and was on the high seas some indefinite 

[35 ] 



Silver Lining 

*^ somewhere'' between me and the Great 
Adventure, with all its accompanying 
vagueness — not until then did I realize 
that the effort toward good courage had 
rooted in deep, sure faith. It was amazing 
and exhilarating to find, in my heart of 
hearts, that my hopes were stronger by far 
than my anxiety. 

So, when he had finally sailed, the fact of 
trust over worry was not merely for appear- 
ance's sake, nor yet to play the Game like a 
sportsman — it was something that I very 
definitely owed — to what Walt Whitman 
dcvscribed as "Santa Spirita, breather, life 
— Beyond the light, lighter than light — 
Beyond Paradise ! — the tallying song of the 
soul." 

It is not easy to explain coherently what 
I mean, but the substance of it all is recog- 
nition of the call of the Ideal to the Indi- 
vidual as well as the Nation. 

Hence, in the interim between the Boy's 
[ 36] 



Silver Lining 

sailing and his arrival on the other side, it 
was possible for me to reply truthfully, 
when people sympathized thus — '*I sup- 
pose you will be dreadfully worried till you 
hear that your husband has landed safely" 
— **No, worrying is against my princi- 
ples." Because it seemed to me that wor- 
rying was n't giving Faith credit for keep- 
ing my Boy in safety. 

I know there are certain people (perhaps 
the reader among them) who may have 
thought — ''How could she help being anx- 
ious — if she really loved him?" But they 
are the same ones who, conversely, would 
have said (if I had worried) — "Why does 
n't she brace up?" 

So, after all, the wisest course is as O. 
Henry bluntly put it — ''Please yourself!'' 

Besides, these people would never under- 
stand that it was because I loved, and loved 
greatly, that worry was smothered up in 
faith. . . . God had given me a love out- 

[ 37 ] 



Silver Lining 

shadowing my highest dreams. Why should 
I not trust Him to guard it? 

And in due season, came the cablegram, 
"Arrived safely — Love." 



A Spring Song 

{In Autumn) 
It seems so long — 
So long ago, 

That poignant day last Spring — 
When all the world bestirred itself 
From sleep, to blossoming ; 
When timid buds their flower faces 
Lifted to the sky 
To catch the glory of the gold 
In sunlight glancing by; 
When faint, sweet bird-notes, trilling, 
Woke the young green leaves to dance — 
Then — Winter lingered in my heart — 
That day you sailed for France! 

You sailed for France, 

And sailing, took 

The heart of spring with you! 

And all the heart and soul of me, — 

The living me — went too; 

And when the Summer's magic swept 

The earth in riotous bloom, 

And hung Night's loveliness with stars 

And drenched it in perfume — 

Ah! then I knew what Beauty, clothed 

In Suffering, could mean; 

For you ivere still in France, 

And miles of ocean stretched between. 

[39] 



Silver Lining 

For you are still in France — and now 

Brisk AtUumn's in the air, 

And little gusts of rose-gold leaves 

Drop fitfully here and there ; — 

And so the Season's Pageant Stage 

Is ever being set — 

The Curtain rises ceaselessly, 

It ceaseless falls — and yet, 

The Spring can never come again 

To me — until, perchance. 

Some day You bring it back to me — 

Home to me — jrom France! 

R. VV. F. 



CHAPTER IX 
A FORTNIGHT after the arrival of the cable- 
gram, letters began to come; and once the 
connection between my Boy and me was 
established, France seemed not so far away. 

The days went swiftly, in spite of their 
loneliness, and almost before I knew it 
spring had vanished, and June poised at 
Earth's threshold. With it came that first 
anniversary which opens this little book's 
pages. 

And, renewing mentally the vows that 
had been so thrillingly breathed a year 
past, there was added a new covenant, deep 
in my heart, born of the whirl of events 
which War had brought; and this was it: 

"I, , give thee, , my Husband, to 

be our Country's Soldier — to have and to 
hold, for little time or long — until Peace 
us do unite!" s 

And while I longed for the Boy on this 

[41 ] 



Silver Lining 

most significant day, in my heart was no 
sadness — only a great sense of pride and 
•happiness that I belonged to him. 

It is autumn now, and I have returned 
once more, after a wonderful summer with 
my dear people at home: a summer to 
which it was not easy to wave farewell — 
but I had my work to find. 

In the meantime, the Boy had been com- 
missioned, and my letters were now proudly 
addressed "Lieutenant." More than ever 
did I want to engage in War work. 

And so, after devious and multiple paths, 
through which the reader need not plod, I 
found my niche. 

From nine in the morning till five at 
night, I am a part (if only an "also ran") 
of that vast organization without which 
the progress of the Great Crusade would be 
sadly hampered — the American Red Cross. 

That is my satisfaction and happiness. 

It is a state of paradox in which so many 

[42 ] 



Silver Lining 

individuals find themselves to-day; a time 
of the greatest sacrifice and pain — and a 
time of richest experience and joy! 

Good times, in the old sense, appeal not 
at all. The paramount issue (for me, at 
least) is to busy myself in such a way and to 
such an extent that I may not be ashamed 
to welcome, when welcoming time indeed 
comes, my soldier husband home, with my 
head held high. 

You, who perchance are reading this, 
snug beside your cozy fireside, at arm's 
length from the husband who has never 
been away from you — to you this may 
seem a strange tongue. And yet it is for 
you I am speaking — to you who will 
shortly, perhaps, be called upon to learn 
that very tongue; to you I give the assur- 
ance from my own experience — that it is 
supremely worth the price. For out of all 
the pain of parting — all the days that 
tread, lonely, one on the other — all the 
wistfulness of longing, is unfolded a vision 

[43] 



Silver Lining 

of surpassing light and joy — a light "such 
as was never seen on sea or land." It is the 
unfolding of the Flower of Idealism, and its 
reward is twofold ; it shows life in terms of 
history and humanity and it lifts the indi- 
vidual toward that height which his vision 
comprehends. 

But if the need does not extend to you, 
after all, perchance this insight into an- 
other's intimate experiences will make that 
which you hold dear doubly so — and that 
which you strive to fulfill, the more worthy 
of attainment. 

For myself, my dominant emotion is one 
of gratitude ; to have been given the privi- 
lege of adding the fraction of a finger- 
weight to the Banner of Freedom. 

Perspective has developed; essentials 
have been grasped, non-essentials have 
been automatically discarded. Out of the 
mist, "the rainbow through the rain!" — 
and at the rainbow's end, the gold of joy 
through faith. 

[44] 



Silver Lining 

And you who are numbered, or to be 
numbered, among the ardent throng — do 
not falter. The way is only a step at a time, 
and always on the ascent! With your eyes 
"unto the hills" — from whence most 
surely will come your help — you cannot 
miss the way. And as you climb, try un- 
ceasingly to *'turn the dark cloud inside 
out." 

Always ahead of us shines that wonderful 

goal, the radiance of which is beyond even 

imagination — journey's end; war's end! 

That goal which is faintly dawning beyond 

the far horizon of Horror and Helplessness 

— when your "Johnny," my "Johnny" — 

everybody's ' ' Johnny ' ' — comes * ' marching 

home." 

" There's a long, long trail a-winding 
Into the Land of my Dreams; 
Where the nightingales are singing 
And a pale moon beams; 
There 's a long, long night of waiting 
Until my Dreams all come true, 
Till the day when I'll he going 
Down that longt long trail with you!** 



CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
U . S . A 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS ^^ 

iiilM^ 

015 907 388 ^Jl 



